


Best Laid Plans

by Asher_Ephraim



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Betrayal, Break Up, Bullying, Canon Universe, Coming Out, Death Star (Star Wars), Deception, First Love, First Time, Geniuses, Geniuses being idiots, M/M, Mad Scientists, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Politics, Underage Smoking, Weapons of Mass Destruction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: A collection of snapshots over the years, depicting key moments in the relationship between Erso and Krennic.
Relationships: Galen Erso/Orson Krennic
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs 2020





	Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LieutenantIvant](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LieutenantIvant/gifts).



> Although I have generally hewed to canon in this piece, I made some significant timeline changes. Primarily, I narrowed the age gap between Erso and Krennic from five to two years, and secondly, Erso doesn't fall in love with Lyra until after the events depicted in this story.
> 
> This fic contains references to bullying of a queer character, but the incident itself is not depicted. (Another student verbally attacks and punches Erso in the face, resulting in a bloody nose. If you'd like to avoid this, skip the first scene until Krennic says, "You don't know when to walk away, do you?")

**Part I: Galen Erso.**

Galen Erso (fourteen, IQ 168) is attempting to hide from everyone, hugging his knees to his chest with his back against a column, when Orson Krennic (twelve, IQ 142) finds him anyway.

The younger student takes one quick look down at him before crouching beside him. “Shit, Galen, what happened?” he asks, lifting a finger toward Galen’s face, surely pointing at his bloodied nose.

Galen gives him a weary look but it’s brief. He doesn’t have the energy to maintain eye contact, especially not with Orson right now. This sort of thing never happens to Krennic, a boy already brimming with the confidence and social skills of an adept politician. So Galen looks away and shrugs.

Orson drops to both knees on the flagstone and pulls a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket. “Who’d you piss off this time?”

“Does it matter?” Galen asks, wincing as he pinches the bridge of his nose with the cloth between his fingers. The blood is starting to clot in his nostrils and it stings now more than it had when he’d been punched. Funny, he _had_ seen it coming—but hadn’t been able to avoid it. What his mind knew hadn’t prevented damage to his body.

“Yeah.”

“Fine. Burgos and his crew are still fixated on my purported queerness. So I may have implied that his intellectual capacity must be a perpetual embarrassment to his mynock parents.”

Orson snorts. “You don’t know when to walk away, do you?”

“I’m tired of hearing it all the time.”

The other boy nods solemnly. “Look, just to be clear, I don’t care that you’re gay.”

Galen furrows his brow and the denial comes of its own accord. “I’m not—”

“I wasn’t finished. I don’t care that you’re gay because so am I.”

Galen lets out a choked noise and finally looks at his friend. His mouth drops open but he says nothing, has nothing to say.

“I’m sorry,” Orson says with a bit of a grimace. “I should have told you earlier, but I guess I was waiting for you to say it first. Because you’re older. And because it seems to bother you more.”

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Galen digs into his inner breast pocket and pulls out a mostly intact cigarra. If they’re having this conversation, he’d appreciate some nicotine. “My parents wouldn’t be happy, but their opinion isn’t relevant anymore. That just leaves everyone else.” They’re not supposed to smoke on campus, but security never seems to round back here along this poorly maintained walkway between buildings now only used for storage. He lights the cigarra and inhales.

Orson makes a dismissive noise. “Most people don’t give a shit. It’s only bullies and idiots.” He settles in beside Galen, close enough for their shoulders to bump. “Things’ll be better in university, and then after school.” He wiggles his fingers, silently asking for a puff.

Galen snorts as he hands the cigarra over. “I’m not ever leaving school.”

“Then things will be even better in grad school. And once you’re a tenured professor, everyone will be too scared of you to say anything.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. “How are you the one with the longterm perspective on this?” he asks.

“Maybe because _I_ _’m_ not the socially stunted genius. I’m just highly gifted.”

**. . .**

It’s the night after final exams have concluded and both Galen and Orson are well on their way to inebriation. They’ve completed their first and third years, respectively, at Coruscant University. Both are working towards degrees in engineering, with Galen focusing on chemistry and Orson on architecture. Going by the content of their routine conversations, they fully intend to redesign the galaxy. And with the cracks beginning to show in the fabric of the Republic, their expertise may be required.

At the moment, they’re standing on the fiftieth floor balcony of Galen’s dormitory, surveying the expanse of the city laid out below them. Orson knocks back the last sip of his beer and sets it down on the railing before strolling over to stand very close to where Galen is leaning back against the outer wall. He places the palm of his right hand on Galen’s chest, a touch left of midline. Just where his heart must be. (Sometimes Galen wonders if he’d be better off without one, without an organic body at all. Life would be simpler if his consciousness were transferred to a droid. No one would expect him to carry on with small-talk then, or give him pitying looks about his one friend and zero romantic history.)

“What the hell are you doing?” he huffs, staring down at his chest before moving to swat the hand away.

But Orson just rolls his eyes and sighs, “Maker, Galen, you can be so _dense_ sometimes.”

And Galen is about to ask what Orson means but that’s when he’s grabbed by the lapels of his jacket and pulled in for a kiss. Galen isn’t expecting it and so their mouths just crash into each other. His rational mind short-circuits for a long moment after which he manages to pull back, lightly smacking his head against the wall behind him. “The fuck, Orson?” he gasps, nearly incoherent with confusion. “What was that?”

“A kiss,” Orson explains flatly. “I thought that much was apparent.”

Galen shuts his eyes and inhales, willing himself to not simply respond with more sarcasm of his own. When he opens his eyes, he says quietly, “We should talk first.”

Orson fucking _pouts_ at him then, and it reminds Galen that Krennic is, after all, eighteen. “I’m not looking to talk. We’ve wasted enough time doing that already.” Slowly, he reaches out his hand and brushes the back of it against Galen’s. “Haven’t we?”

Galen swallows and as he stares into Orson’s eyes—they’re such a pale blue, how are they that colour?—his fingers unfurl and interlock with Orson’s. He intends to ask just what Orson wants but although he opens his mouth, his vocal cords fail him.

Orson leans in slowly, so bloody slowly, and quietly murmurs, “Kiss me, Galen.”

He can think of at least six good reasons why he shouldn’t, but none of them stop him from nodding and leaning forward. It’s surprisingly easy to figure out the basics of kissing, and he doesn’t feel rushed or judged. Orson can be downright callous with others, but he’s always been so gentle with Galen, and tonight is no different. After what feels like an age but can’t be more than ten minutes, Orson takes a half-step back.

“Mm?” Galen asks, kiss-drunk and warm all over.

Orson gets to his knees and, glancing up, gives Galen a wink.

“Have you ever done this?” Galen asks. He’s not sure how much of Orson’s confidence is just the natural swagger of his personality versus actual experience.

Orson glances away apologetically. “Yeah. Sorry.”

He frowns and hastens to clarify. “No, I’m not—Not jealous about it. I just wanted to know if it was your first time.”

“And I wanted you to know that I wish it were.”

 _That_ goes straight to Galen’s stomach and he has no idea what to do with it. “Oh.” He can’t say anything else, but Orson’s fingers are undoing the fasteners of his trousers, so he probably doesn’t need to talk. Once Orson’s lips are on him, he can’t hold back a gasp of pleasure. “Oh, _Orson,_ ” he whispers. “I don’t deserve you.”

Orson blinks up at him and slowly shakes his head. “You deserve this and so much more. I’ve been dying for you to give me a chance to show you.”

Galen’s heart is thudding, more from Orson’s words than his actions. “You’re phenomenal, I’m sorry I took so long to realise it.”

“You’re well worth the wait.” Orson flicks open his own pants and reaches a hand inside. He bites his lower lip as he pulls out his cock. “Fuck, you’re so handsome. I’ve been imagining this when I wank for years now.”

Galen shuts his eyes, simply _feeling_. He’s overwhelmed by all of it. The next words he speaks are minutes later, and then it’s just a moaned “Orson, darling—” But he can’t finish the thought, because he’s busy finishing in Orson’s mouth.

Once he has somewhat regained his mental faculties, he looks down to check on Orson, make sure he’s not regretting things. But he shouldn’t have worried because the other boy is serenely wiping his own come on his undershirt and licking his lips.

“Shit,” Galen curses, feeling a frown form and deepen. “I’m going to catch hell for this.”

“No, you’re not,” Orson assures him, as though all his concerns are simply byproducts of an over-anxious mind, the sort of problems that dissipate after a good night’s rest.

“Oh, really. And why not?”

“Because you’re with _me_ ,” Orson declares with a triumphant grin. “I’ll make sure everything works out.”

Krennic’s confidence is so buoyant, it’s nearly infectious, and Galen can’t help but burst into laughter.

“What do you want?” Galen asks the next evening, keeping his hand on Orson’s cheek. He doesn’t want to break skin contact, not now that it’s finally begun.

“I’d love to fuck,” Orson answers easily, without hesitation or shame. Like it’s simple, like there won’t be any consequences to worry about.

“Um.” Galen is already thinking of the potential fallout. It could ruin their friendship. It could derail the collaborative projects that they’ve daydreamed about. And coming out would certainly hurt Galen’s already borderline reputation with certain members of the university’s administration.

“But it’s up to you. If you’re not ready. I know this must seem sudden to you.”

It does, of course. They’ve gone from friendship to broaching the possibility of sex in under twenty-four hours. But somehow it feels like a logical direction for their relationship to head. This may be the natural progression of their late-night/early-morning conversations, their impassioned debates, and the quiet moments of sympathy. He swallows and nods. “I just. Don’t know what I’m doing. But I want—” He feels his brow furrowing, his fingers curling into fists, and a moment later he groans in frustration. “I’m sorry, I don’t know how to say these things.”

And Orson just smiles and squeezes Galen’s shoulders reassuringly. “I know. It doesn’t bother me. Take your time.”

That’s all it takes for Galen to relax enough to be able to get a few more coherent words out. “I want you, Orson. I don’t know what that means, I don’t know how that plays out. You’ve an advantage here because you’ve been with other guys—”

“I haven’t. Not like that.”

“Oh.” This information undercuts the point he was about to make. “I was going to ask how you like it, and just go with trying that.”

“Well, it looks like we’ll be figuring this out together.”

In Galen’s bedroom (because as a third-year student his quarters are larger and more private), he turns toward Orson and asks, “Why haven’t you done this before?”

Orson gives him an amused look. “Are you asking me why I’m a virgin?”

“I suppose so. It can’t be for want of opportunity.”

“No, you’re right. I’ve had chances, I just didn’t want to take them. I suppose I’ve been waiting for you.”

“You’re—you’re serious.”

“Deadly.”

Just as he’d waited for Galen to come out first. Orson has been ready for romance, ready for sex, even, and Galen has been stumbling to catch up. “Thanks for your patience.”

“Yeah, sure thing. But can we get to it now?”

Galen kisses him to shut him up. And because he can’t stop himself.

“You can top,” Orson suggests after they’ve made it to the bed. He’s shirtless, sitting on Galen’s thighs with his legs wrapped around the older student’s hips.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yeah, I think I’ll like it either way with you, and I don’t think I could stand to hurt you at all.”

Galen blinks. Everyone else dismisses Orson Krennic as cold, unfeeling, possibly sociopathic. But there are moments like this, glimpses below the exterior, and Galen cares for this young man so deeply it makes his entire chest ache. “Okay,” he says. “But next time, I’ll bottom.”

“Already planning a repeat, huh?” Orson teases, nipping at Galen’s earlobe.

Galen puts a hand in the centre of Orson’s chest and pushes him backward. “Just get your trousers off, yeah?”

The preparation passes by in a whirl. Orson had the foresight to bring a condom, Galen gets the lube from his nightstand. There’s a scramble of legs and arms as they puzzle out positioning, attempting and abandoning various configurations before ending up with Orson on his hands and knees with Galen kneeling between his legs.

“I guess I just…” Galen trails off, staring down at his condom-wrapped cock jutting between Orson’s cheeks.

“Yeah. Just… try to go slowly, is all.”

He nods. He aims and presses forward steadily but his cock slips upward and he nearly collapses onto Orson’s back. It’s bloody embarrassing and they both dissolve into a fit of giggles that takes minutes to recover from. The second attempt succeeds, though, and Galen edges his way inside Orson’s body in agonising increments. Once he’s nearly seated, he lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding and asks, “You okay?”

“Yep.” But Orson’s voice is strangled and his hands are curled into fists. “Just. Give me a moment.”

Galen waits. He waits until Orson lets out a sigh, nods, and says, “Yeah, okay, fuck me now.”

The first few thrusts are tentative as Galen put theoretical guesswork into practice and gages Orson’s reactions. Even these shallow, awkward motions have him gasping, “Maker, wow. You feel incredible.”

Orson turns his head to give him an encouraging smile. Soon enough, Galen finds a rhythm that more than satisfies him and doesn’t seem to cause Orson any discomfort.

In fact, Orson takes a hold of his cock and starts to tug vigorously, meeting Galen’s thrusts, tilting his head upward and panting, “Yeah, that’s fucking _nice_.”

“Fuck!” Galen moans. “I’m—holy shit, Orson…”

“Close?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, would you mind not coming in the condom?”

“Where, then?”

“On me, maybe?” He gives a little shrug with one shoulder. “I want to see it. And feel it.”

There’s no way Galen could possibly deny him this request. He pulls out—too quickly, judging by the hiss that escapes Orson’s mouth—and peels the condom off. He isn’t sure where to put it, but as there are no great options (no pockets, no rubbish bin nearby) and there’s a time crunch, he tosses it over the side of the bed.

Orson flips onto his back and stares up at him, chest heaving as he jerks himself off quickly. “Go on, Galen. Come on me.”

“Maker, I don’t need any encouragement,” Galen gripes as he straddles Orson’s waist.

A flash of a grin. “Still, I’m encouraging you. I’m gonna come the second you start.”

Galen glances up at the ceiling, taking a moment to ground himself, to fully appreciate that this is reality. “Bloody hell, Orson—” He pauses because his vision is blurry, swallows, shakes his head. It doesn’t help, everything is soft and out of focus and…

“Are you tearing up?” Orson asks, reaching his free hand up to cup Galen’s face.

He blinks rapidly. “Yes,” he admits. “It’s too much, it’s too good, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he blabbers.

“Shut up,” Orson says. “Shut up and come on me, love.”

Galen’s breath falters, a tear spills, and he comes, spilling over his fist and onto Orson’s pale chest. Orson follows moments later, and then they’re kissing again, kissing like the whole galaxy will pause for them.

**Part II: Orson Krennic.**

They’ve been together for over half a decade, and the trajectory of Erso’s career has been mapped by Krennic’s influence. The professorship at the Institute of Applied Science, the position at Helical HyperCom, and now his research fellowship at Celestial Power.

Is he trying to purchase Erso’s loyalty, his affection? He knows it might look that way to others, but he also knows something they certainly don’t: He owes it to Galen.

Because he’s already over his head in debt, has been since the very start of their friendship. With all his other acquaintances, as close as they might appear from the outside, he can’t be sure of their motivations, can’t trust their sincerity. With Galen, he knows it’s real. He doesn’t have to analyse or dissect the man’s words, glances, or gestures. The surface accurately reflects his innermost life.

Galen’s friendship—and now his love—has been the one constant in Orson’s life, forms a secure foundation he can build upon. Galen doesn’t lie, doesn’t dissemble, doesn’t manipulate. He is, to put it simply, an example of how good people _can_ be.

(A reminder that they aren’t always like Krennic.)

And when they’re alone together, Orson can practice being like that.

“I know you’re focused on the energy applications of your work here,” Orson begins one night as they lie together in their bed. “But you can’t ignore its security potential.”

“You’re talking about a super-weapon again.” It isn’t a question.

“I’m talking about a deterrent.” He isn’t trying to bicker, but terms do matter.

Galen sighs and shifts further onto his side, but Orson keeps his hand on Galen’s hip. “The trouble with deterrents is that eventually, someone calls your bluff and you have to make a choice. And often the person making that choice is a trigger-happy jingoist.”

“But when one is facing down a legitimate threat—”

Galen turns again, this time to face Orson, settling down heavily enough to make the mattress bounce. “What sort of threat would require neutralising or retaliation with a world-destroying weapon? And don't try arguing that we need to beat them to the punch. The R&D on that sort of project would take the time and money that only a huge government would have. The terrorists aren’t getting a hold of a kyber-powered WMD unless they steal it from _us_.” He shakes his head. “No, the safest thing for the galaxy is not to pursue this.”

“Galen,” Krennic mutters, keeping his voice hushed but still audibly disappointed. “I never thought you’d be the one to turn down an opportunity for trailblazing research.”

At that accusation, Galen sits up abruptly, dislodging Orson’s hand. “It’s not just an academic pursuit! Maker, Orson, I thought at least _you_ _’d_ understand. You’ve read my reports from the beginning. An archaic weapon powered with a single kyber crystal is devastating in close combat. And we both saw the footage from the accident in L3…” He drifts off as he stares intently at the far wall. “Two technicians _vapourised_ , Orson. From a relatively low-powered beam sent through a ten-millimeter piece of refined crystal. In a controlled environment.”

Krennic nods slowly and his arm finds its place across Galen’s shoulders. “I’m not saying it isn’t dangerous. Or terrifying.” Honestly, he was relieved that enough of their precautions functioned to limit the casualties to two. “I’m just suggesting that those factors alone might not be sufficient reasons to abandon the pursuit of knowledge.”

“Orson, I’m a scientist. I don’t want to be the architect of the death of millions. This isn’t what I left Grange for.”

“No,” Orson says, leaning over to place a kiss on Galen’s cheekbone. “You left Grange for greatness.”

In return, Galen gives him a weak smile.

Their definitions of greatness vary significantly. 

It comes down to this: Galen is too good for him and always has been. And Orson has known it for ages, but was able to keep it shoved down until now. Until there’s undeniable evidence to point to.

 _You_ _’re keeping something vital from him, something he wouldn’t countenance for a moment if he knew._

But Krennic knows. There’s no way to disclose the intended purpose of Galen’s research without it costing both of them their careers and likely their freedom as well. He presses his fingertips against his forehead, squeezes his eyes shut, and tells himself that results are years out. Galen’s work is still in the early stages, nothing _consequential_ has happened yet.

It will, though. And once Galen finds out, there will be no salvaging their relationship, not as lovers or friends or even colleagues. Galen will _never_ forgive him.

The only other feasible option remaining is to resign. Turn in his commission, explain to Tarkin and the ISB that he cannot in good conscience proceed with this work. But he doesn't actually have a moral issue with the research, only with keeping its nature secret from Galen. Besides, were he to resign suddenly, Galen would suspect something. Sooner or later, he'd put the pieces together. In all likelihood, sooner.

It can be hell dating a genius. 

He figures he can keep this together for another year at least, which is more than he deserves but so much less than he wants. He'll eke out as much time with Galen as he can before it all implodes in the wake of his choices.

**. . .**

Galen is standing at a bench in the main lab, staring up at a holo-display of blueprints when Orson stops by to collect him for their daily walk home.

“Hey,” he begins, but pauses his greeting at the recognition of the plans and abandons it entirely at the look of pure exhaustion that Galen fixes him with. “Ah,” he says instead.

“‘Deep Space Orbital Battle Station,’” Galen reads from the title of the plans. “‘Lead engineer: Orson Callan Krennic’.”

Technically, Orson should lock the door and launch an immediate security inquiry. Erso doesn’t have the clearance to view these plans, although they’d be little more than a fever dream without his work. “Yes,” he whispers hoarsely.

“Was this your idea?”

“Not initially, no.” Tarkin had passed along the preliminary sketches at the beginning of his appointment to the Initiative. Krennic, being a pragmatist above all else, hadn’t inquired about their origins. He’d simply begun the work of fusing the rudimentary framework with Erso’s discoveries, then streamlining the result. Fine-tuning it. Making it elegant. “Although I’m now lead on the design.”

“Would you mind informing me, then, as a professional courtesy, just _whom the fuck_ I’ve been working for?” Galen asks, stabbing at the turbolaser emplacement with his finger. “Because ‘Project Celestial Power’ now smacks of a military code name.”

Krennic grimaces. “Officially, it’s called the Tarkin Initiative.”

“Tarkin,” Galen repeats, sounding calm once again. “Wilhuff Tarkin. Governor of the Eriadu Sector and security consultant to the Emperor himself.” He runs the tip of a finger across the lip of an erlenmeyer flask. “How long have I conducted my research under the auspices of this ‘Initiative’, might I ask?”

“About three years, now.” He’d been praying that Galen wouldn’t ask this specific question, because the details are still classified and as such, Galen wouldn’t be likely to stumble across this information on his own. He never wanted his lover to discover just how committed he’s been to this deception, how deeply he’s dug the grave of their relationship.

“Three years,” Erso echoes hollowly. “Were you planning on ever telling me directly, or just waiting for me to figure things out on my own?”

He frowns. There’s no way to answer this and come out looking alright, so he might as well do Galen the favour—call it a professional courtesy—of being honest. “I’ve been a coward.”

Galen snaps him a look. “Yes, you truly have.”

“I was afraid of losing you as much as I was afraid of Tarkin.”

At least he gets a nod for that. Recognition of his motives, if not understanding. It’s something. (He knows it’s not nearly enough.)

“Tell me something, Director.” His voice is icy, brittle, as he uses Krennic’s title instead of his name. This is when Orson understands that he _is_ losing Galen. Right now. “When you talked to me about the practical applications of my research, all those nights we were lying beside one another, were you simply hoping to convince me of the merits of weaponising my work? To win me over so you wouldn’t need to disclose your—your— _fucking betrayal_?”

He swallows, or attempts to. Instead he coughs. “I wanted to tell you so many times, even before it became official. Wanted to alert you to the fact that the highest levels of government—the Republic, then the Empire—were already watching your work, that they all had plans for it. But I knew you. Knew how you’d react.”

Galen’s arms are crossed as he waits for Krennic to finish.

“I knew you’d refuse to agree to militarisation, and I knew they’d eventually sideline you, then pull you off the project entirely. You’d have lost your lab, your career, your reputation.”

“None of that matters, Orson! What bloody matters is that we might have prevented the development of a superweapon! Maker, Krennic, if you care about reputations, think of how your name as well as mine will be forever married to the atrocity that Tarkin is turning it into.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t see it that way. After all, it may never be fired. And if it _is_ , I want to be present and involved, to make sure that it’s employed sanely—”

“This thing will be able to rip an entire planet apart at the seams at the push of a button. There is nothing sane about it.” He picks up the flask and for a moment, Krennic thinks he’s about to throw it. But he simply gives it a sad, almost pitying, look before setting it down again. “This is the end of our work together, the end of my service—or indentured servitude—to the Empire. It goes without saying that this ends everything else between us as well.” He pauses in the doorway to look back and sigh. “You’ll have my official resignation by the morning. Don’t bother contacting me. You’ve chosen your loyalties; I’ve chosen mine.”

“I’ll—I’ll miss you, Galen,” Krennic rasps a moment before the door slides shut, sealing him in the laboratory alone. He ought to seal the facility to prevent Galen from leaving. But he won’t. Even after all he’s done, he can’t stomach the thought of keeping Galen prisoner. He’ll have enough trouble living with himself as it is.


End file.
